by Lynn Kurland
Why would a man that handsome find himself mucking out stalls to feed himself? If his sire had so many sons, then why—
She stopped herself before she wasted the effort to finish that thought. If his sire had so many sons, perhaps he hadn’t been able to provide for them all properly. For all she knew, Acair, being the youngest, had been at the tail-end of the line when it came to an inheritance and found himself with absolutely nothing to his name but a handsome face and some skill with cards.
Or perhaps no skill with cards. She watched him and felt a bit of alarm sweep though her over the way he was frowning, as if he hadn’t a clue what he was doing. The truth was, he was losing badly. He scratched his head, made a few noises of dismay, and looked at his cards as if he’d never seen anything like them before. One of the men at the table made a rather vile jest at Acair’s expense. Acair only laughed in a good-natured fashion, then set to another bit of looking at his cards with an expression of utter bafflement.
And then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t losing any longer.
He won several hands in a row, gathering to himself a respectable pile of coins. The others fought valiantly, but in the end, the rest of the table threw in their hands in disgust.
“You cheat,” a man said, rising and pointing a finger at Acair. His face was mottled red. “You’re a bloody cheat!”
Acair looked up at him coolly. “If you’re going to call a man a cheat, friend, you’d best have damned good proof of it, don’t you think?”
“Ralf, he bested you fairly,” one of the other men said with a sigh. He looked at Acair. “He does this to everyone. Can’t say I’m happy about losing my gold for supper, but I watched you closely enough. I saw nothing foul.”
Acair rose. “And with that, my good man, supper and ale for the three of you is yours. Your friend can go drink out of the horse trough.”
The man seemed to find that a reasonably acceptable outcome and gathered up his companions to go find the innkeeper. Léirsinn glanced at them, then looked back at the possessor of many more coins than he’d started the evening with. He sat down at the table, apparently not needing to go stand at the bar and wait for someone to take his supper order. A barmaid was immediately at his side, breathlessly inquiring about his desires. Unsurprising, but Léirsinn wasn’t about to argue. Acair might have been a rogue and a gambler, but he was generous with his funds. He ordered food to feed them, paid for meals for his newly fleeced friends, then looked at her.
“I hope that will suit.”
“I can’t repay you.”
“Don’t think I asked you to.”
She studied him because she liked to know what she was facing. “You didn’t, which bothers me.”
“You might just be grateful.” He stopped, then frowned. “What a notion.”
“Being grateful?”
“Well, the very idea of doing something pleasant for another soul is appalling enough, but doing it without expecting something very dear in return is another thing entirely.” He looked at her. “I think I’ve been in your barn too long.”
She almost smiled. “Not accustomed to that sort of altruism, is that it?”
“That is it,” he agreed. He had another substantial drink of ale. “I believe I might be losing what few wits remain me.”
“Where did you lose the first batch?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then pursed his lips. “I’m not at liberty to say specifically, but I believe I may have lost most of them at a table just like this.”
“Playing at cards?”
“Nay, talking to my half-brother and one of his do-gooding companions.”
“Horrors.”
“If you only knew,” he said with a fair amount of feeling, “and look you here is supper, come at just the proper time to prevent me from answering any more questions I’m not free to answer.”
She had never in her life seen food appear so quickly. Then again, if she’d been that barmaid, she would have served Acair just that quickly and returned often simply for the chance to have another look at him. “Are you on a mission of secrecy?”
He glanced around himself as if he feared someone might be listening, then looked at her. “As it happens, aye, I am. And unfortunately, giving you any details at all will be detrimental to my health, so I will forbear.”
“Then what shall we discuss?” she asked. “Your skill with cards?”
“As interesting a topic as that is, perhaps we should save that for later.” He had another sip of ale. “Instead, why don’t we talk about what you keep avoiding on the ground?”
She would have spewed out what she was eating, but she hadn’t managed to yet get a spoonful of stew to her lips. She did drop that spoon into her bowl which had the same effect given that she was now wearing a decent amount of broth. Acair sighed lightly and signaled for the barmaid. Léirsinn would have protested, but she didn’t have a chance before she was presented with a towel and a new supper.
She honestly couldn’t remember when she had seen so much food in front of her at one time.
“I’m not avoiding anything,” she said, holding on to her spoon and keeping it well away from anything spillable.
“I believe there are those who consider lying to be a sin.”
“I’m not lying.”
He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “I am not a good man,” he said seriously, “and my failings are legion. But I will tell you that the one gift I have from my mother is the ability to tell the absolute truth at all times. As a tasteful accompaniment to that unfortunate shortcoming, she gave me the ability to spot a lie from a hundred paces. And you, mistress, are lying.”
“I don’t want to tell you the truth,” she said.
He grunted. “Well, now there is a piece of truth.” He studied her for a moment or two, then nodded slowly. “Very well, keep your secrets. I understand that well enough. Let’s speak of supper instead. Is yours edible?”
“Surprisingly.”
“Considering what you’ve likely been eating, I understand. How long have you been at the barn?”
“Since I was scarce ten-and-two,” she said, because she supposed there was no harm in saying as much.
“Did your parents send you off to work for your uncle or was that your choice?”
She wasn’t surprised that he knew her connection to Fuadain; it was common gossip amongst the lads. She couldn’t say she was interested in knowing what else they said about her, though. She was even less interested in giving anyone details that would likely be spread about just as quickly.
“My parents are dead,” she said, because that was also common knowledge. “And so I’ve been at the barn for several years now.” She looked at him to find him looking at her not so much with calculation as pity. “My uncle thought I might find a happy distraction amongst the horses.”
“How generous of him.”
She looked at him sharply. “It could have been worse.”
“Aye,” he agreed, “it could have been.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“I understand. Let’s talk about this fine meal and how we might lure the innkeeper’s cook out to your uncle’s stables.”
She supposed that might have been a fine distraction, but it proved not to be necessary. The lads Acair had bought supper for asked if they could join them at their table and the rest of the evening passed very pleasantly in a discussion of local politics. If Acair said absolutely nothing of substance, Léirsinn supposed she could only credit him with an impressive display of mining for a great deal of information without giving any up. He might never have set foot in a barn before, but she had the feeling this wasn’t his first pub.
She was starting to wonder with far too much enthusiasm just who he was.
The lads left eventually, well fed and properly watered, with
praises to Acair’s name on their lips. Léirsinn toyed with her mug, feeling rather decently fêted herself, then looked at her benefactor.
“You made a trio of friends there.”
He shrugged. “Idle conversation and edible food. That doesn’t seem very memorable, but perhaps for them it was.”
“Where are you from?” she asked, because she had been fighting the question all evening and found she couldn’t resist it any longer.
He was leaning back in his chair, looking like nothing more than an average, if not painfully handsome, man with no remarkable past. “I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you and the telling of that particularly useless piece of trivia would hardly pass my lips before I was dead.”
She would have laughed at him, but she could see he was serious. “But you aren’t a stable hand.”
“I am for the foreseeable future.”
“That doesn’t reassure me about your character, you know.”
“I didn’t imagine it would.” He set his mug on the table. “You are a wise woman, Léirsinn of Sàraichte, and you should follow your instincts and stay very far away from me.”
“Unless I’m off to a pub at dusk.”
“Well, I might come in handy then.” He smiled briefly. “Shall we turn for our luxurious accommodations?”
She nodded, though she had to admit that for the first time in as long as she could remember, she wasn’t particularly keen to return to the barn. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the horses there.
It was that she loathed her uncle.
There, she had said it. Not said it, but actually thought the words with a clarity that she had never dared use before. She looked at Acair to find him studying her closely.
“He’s a bastard,” he said mildly.
“Who?”
“The one you’re thinking of.”
“Cards and the reading of thoughts?” she said lightly. “What next?”
“The heavens weep over the thought, I’m sure.” He rose and picked up his cloak, but said nothing else.
She understood. There was nothing to say.
She walked out into the night, flinched a bit at the chill, then took a deep breath and put her foot to—
Nothing, actually, because Acair pulled her aside. He did it so casually, she might not have noticed if she hadn’t been the one being pulled. She looked at him in surprise, then watched him point to a spot where she had almost put her foot.
A shadow was there.
She looked at him quickly, but he only lifted one eyebrow briefly, then walked with her away from the pub. It took her several minutes to be able to speak and even then she suspected that nothing useful would come out of her mouth.
“I think I’m losing my wits,” she said finally.
“I would suspect that comes from all the time you have no doubt spent over the years sneaking whiffs of very strong horse liniment, nothing more.”
She would have agreed with him, but she found she couldn’t say anything else. All she could do was put one foot in front of the other and continue on to a place where she wasn’t sure she could live much longer. She had to get her grandfather out of the manor house and herself out of Sàraichte before something dire happened to them both.
Acair fell silent, which she appreciated. Her head was spinning not only thanks to a decent meal, but also from plans she could only dream of putting into motion. It was a testament to how fixated she was on the thought that she didn’t realize how close they were to the barn until she was standing inside it.
She looked up at Acair. “We’re here.”
He nodded. “And so we are,” he said quietly. “Keep a weather eye out.”
She had to take a careful breath. “You too. Thank you for supper.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled briefly. “Got work to do.”
“Me too.”
She watched him go, then took hold of herself and walked off to see to her own work. She was fortunate, she supposed, that she had been doing it for so long that she didn’t need to remind herself of what to do next. That was the only thing, she was sure, that saved her from standing there, wringing her hands.
She put her hand over a charm she wore constantly under her shirt, something she’d been given by someone who firmly believed there were unseen forces at work in the world, forces that could be counted on for aid. Léirsinn could only hope that was the case because if anyone needed help beyond the norm, it was her. There was mischief afoot in Sàraichte and she wanted no part of it.
Unfortunately, she had the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to escape it.
Six
Acair stood outside the stables, leaning against a bit of stone fence, and wondered just what in the hell he was thinking. He could hardly believe he’d been up before the sun so many days in a row without having spent entirety of the night before making mischief, but that seemed to be his lot in life of late.
Do-gooding was, he had to admit, exhausting.
But so was mucking out stalls, which was why he had greeted with such joy the tidings he’d had not a quarter hour ago that he had a day of liberty to look forward to. If he used that day of liberty to skulk about satisfying his curiosity, who could blame him? He was less than a fortnight into his sentence and already he was desperate for something interesting to do.
Ah, and there went something interesting, just as he’d suspected.
He pushed off from the wall and followed the lady of the barn at a respectable distance. Now, that one there was a mystery. He could scarce believe she could control the sorts of equine brutes she faced, yet she’d been completely bested by the thought of his buying her supper. She wasn’t afraid to give a lad a right proper ticking off, but she had no weapon to encourage the same lad to take her seriously.
And she saw shadows where there were none.
That was the strangest thing of all. He had honestly thought her daft as a duck when he’d followed her on his last foray to the local pub, but when she’d pulled him aside, he’d seen what she had been avoiding and couldn’t deny that there was something quite untoward about it. There were shadows, of course, and then there were shadows. What he had seen had been a less of a shadow than a hint of magic. Watching a lad step into its embrace, pause as if he’d had his will to move briefly stolen from him, then carry on as if nothing had happened to him . . . ’twas passing odd, that.
He paused, but that was only because he’d just realized that Léirsinn had stopped, turned, and was currently glaring at him. He examined her for implements of death, then shook his head. As he’d told her a few nights ago, she was going to have to learn to protect herself. He was frankly quite surprised she had reached her current age without having had something dire happen to her.
He might have suggested a thing or two she could do to make herself a bit more terrifying, but he wasn’t entirely sure how one went about teaching a mere mortal how to defend herself. The women he knew saw to that sort of thing thanks to garrisons with sharp swords or their own sweet selves with complements of terrible spells. Léirsinn only had a glare and it wasn’t even a very good glare.
He caught her up, then stopped a pace or two away and inclined his head. “Mistress Léirsinn.”
“What are you doing?” she asked shortly.
“I understand I’ve been released from the delights of shoveling horse leavings for the day.”
“And you thought to follow me?”
He shrugged. “I was going your way.”
“Which is why you were waiting for me earlier?”
She had a point there, but he wasn’t sure how to admit to that without admitting to more than he wanted to. The truth was, he’d had a fairly pointed conversation with Doghail the night before during which they’d discussed a few things about the lady
in question, namely her propensity to simply trot off into the fray without thinking about her safety. He suspected that was why he’d been set free for the day.
The other problem, though, was that he was terrible at small talk. He usually conducted his business with a rakish smile and a quick and dirty spell. Also, he wasn’t sure how one went about talking to a horse miss. Stable lass. He hardly knew what to call her and he suspected that referring to her as Fuadain’s niece wasn’t going to get him anywhere—not that he wanted to get anywhere with her. The woman needed a keeper and that keeper was not going to be him.
He supposed that begged the question of why he was following her, but that wasn’t a question he wanted to answer at the moment.
“I was resting,” he said, nodding back toward the barn. “Very comfortable wall there.”
She snorted. “Resting is generally best done in a bed and, without being too blunt, let me say that I don’t require company at present.”
“But I’m such good company,” he said. “Plus, I’ll buy you luncheon.”
“Do you have coin left over from the other night?”
“Enough for one meal. We’ll share.”
She frowned at him, then walked away. He caught up to her easily and walked with her. He couldn’t deny that there were strange things afoot in Sàraichte, but given that the place found itself in the most tedious country he’d ever seen save Shettlestoune, perhaps the inhabitants were desperate enough for something to do that they had to invent trouble.
Léirsinn stopped suddenly and put out her hand. He would have protested, but he had also caught sight of that thing lying there so innocently on the ground. He started to lean over to study it a bit more closely, but was interrupted by an angry shout.
“Oy, out of the way!”
Acair would have told the man to go to hell, but he supposed Léirsinn would pay for that in some way. He instead simply moved with her off the path as a groom came toward them, leading a horse that Acair could see was not terribly fine. The man stepped on the spot, paused, then shook himself and moved on.